Heron Lake Plateau improve his shining tusks

Though Caiaphas was hard-pressed to relinquish her babes from her yellow spearing eyes, it would always come down to the fact that she could not be there every second of every day to watch and coddle them with the fretful intention of never losing another child. She was absent when Svalinn woke, and when Raleska further refused to stir for him, the child took it upon himself to search for someone familiar... and willing.

He pounced away from the Eyjolfur densite, initially pursuing his mother's recent trail, but -- as it tends to occur with children -- became distracted when a butterfly floated harmlessly across his path. Startled by it at first, Svalinn pulled back fromt he swathe of new color with an uncertain growl. It was a beat later when he realized this thing was small enough to fit into his mouth, and that thought  turned into an instinctive lunge as the butterfly dipped suggestively in front of him. He was of course too slow to catch the fluttering insect, but he gave chase through a need to practice, forgetting entirely what he had been doing before.

@Fire

with permission from Fire to, uh, be here. rolled a 12 outta 15 in tabletop, so feel free to do what you wish with her. take an eye, ear, whatever.

that was the thing about wandering without a pack--you just got fucking hungry.

yeah, yeah, rabbits and voles, whatever. a wolf subsisting on small game for months is the equivalent of a dude eating doritos for every meal. (at least she thinks--nashoba's not human, nor is she a fuckin' scientist.) anyway--doritos. yeah. they're delicious, and they whet your appetite for a little while, but after a while, you would do anything--anything--for a three-course dinner.

nashoba had few scruples after so long alone, and she'd never had kids. in her hunger-addled mind, the tiny pup in front of her was basically a chicken nugget. it was tiny, defenseless, chasing around a butterfly, for crying out loud. there was no sign of any adults anywhere close; she could have him down her throat before he made a peep.

that was the other thing about wandering without a pack and getting hungry, though: you lost your edge.

instead of waiting in the brush like a good girl (she'd crossed some sort of border a long time ago, but whatever) she walked right out, grinning at the kid like she was about to take him to school, instead of, you know, eat him. "what'cha doin'?" she asked, her smile growing more and more predatorial as she drew closer.

her shadow fell over the pup, and an audible rumble escaped her sunken belly. she resisted a groan of pained hunger, licking her lips, saliva pooling in her jaws. just one more instant. . .

four is about my limit for group threads so i'd prefer the next person that shows up be the last <3

Ceara had been out on a patrol when she caught sight of the Eyjolfur's butterball child.  Although she had been less than thrilled when the family had shown up on their doorstep, at least Blondine had shown her thus far that they were willing to lend a hand.

She lingered in the background, watching the pup play with the butterfly.  She didn't want to help him just yet, in case he was able to take it down himself — it was best to start early especially since they had so many mouths to feed around here now.

From between the shadows emerged a face she did not recognize and she did not need to scent to recognize that this was not one of the packmates who had been so reclusive that she hadn't met them yet.

She bristled dangerously, ears pinned forward as her tail arched over the sharp roll of her hips, and her lips peeled back to reveal flashing white incisors.  Out, she commanded as she forced herself between the newcomer's child and the stranger and if she did not comply immediately, she would find the vengeful Blackthorn's teeth in her flesh. 

He'd been coming from the opposite direction, so when he came across the scent of someone unfamiliar, unescorted, and definitely uninvited crossing into the territory, he could feel his fur standing on end.  Quixote took off in that direction without a second thought.  Though he still had a lot of questions about what his duties were supposed to be, this was one of those cases where it was absolutely crystal clear.

Ceara was already on scene.  Good.  Whoever it was wouldn't get any deeper into the territory then.  But of course, the target herself was also there so Quixote's gallop fell in pace to a stiff-legged trot, decorated with a particularly brutal-sounding snarl, lips parted to show a nice shiny array of teeth.  Despite his typical preference for being pretty casual when it came to dominance and submission, this was not the case right now, he was full on arched tail and aggressively puffed appearance that probably said what he meant across species lines without a word verbally said.  Other than the snarl, of course.

Whoever this was, they were a danger to his family.  If whoever this was didn't crumple into submission or flee in terror in like .003 seconds, she was going to have however-many pounds of angry father ripping into her hide.  The fact that there was another pup around?  Coincidence.  And it didn't look like he was going to stop moving forward either -- she was on a timer.

Two sets of eyes were upon him in the wood, and Svalinn was none the wiser. Thus was the cursed blessing of childhood -- an existence largely shaped by ignorance -- leaving the blond boy with little mind for anything other than the flight of the quick butterfly. It wasn't until he heard a voice did he whirl around to place his attention elsewhere; finding the dark face and hungry smile of a she-wolf he didn't recognize. He was uncertain, but not entirely daunted by her presence. His tail even wagged a little as he stood rigidly and seemed to debate whether or not he wanted to come closer.

But she was closing the distance too fast -- rude! -- and it didn't give him the choice he usually had to approach first. Wolves weren't typically so quick to crowd an unfamiliar pup; this was quite frankly a jarring experience and his response was to bite her, and teach her a lesson. Just as he growled, prepared to spring and dominate, Fire slithered above him and impeded the progress of both victim and assailant: Svalinn, of course, considering himself the latter.

He peered through her legs, feeling emboldened by the fact that he knew this she-wolf -- more like recognized -- but his would-be attack was staved by the dangerous air around her. Something was wrong. Fire wasn't being friendly, and suddenly another wolf -- black-furred and equally as unfamiliar as the first -- joined the flame-lapped she-wolf in her ire. Svalinn stumbled backwards, stunned, as a vicious scene began to unfold before him.

j/k you can kill her lol

before she could strike, this fuckin' red bitch popped on scene, giving her not a question but a command. turning around, she bared her yellowed teeth in a silent retort, but then someone else came, too--a burly black male. perhaps in another life, far ago, nashoba would have backed off at this show of strength.

but she was hungry, and she needed to eat. so fuck these wolves and whatever little fam they belonged to. "make me," she responded, grinning wickedly at the ruddy girl.

her stomach rumbled like thunder, and nashoba turned 'round, jaws parted and drool cascading from her lips as she pounced at the pup. she didn't even think of the fact that she'd probably not make the entire leap. you didn't fuck with kids--that was sort of the whole point of life, and all that.

jumping in with permission from OP! ♥

on a good day, caiaphas could be described as 'quirkily malignant' -- or perhaps, 'possessing many malignant quirks' that made her dangerous and very far removed from the comfortable identity one associates with 'harmless'. at the very least, even at her most tranquil (a word that oddly seemed ill-fitted to ever ascribe caiaphas' demeanor) there was a glimmering malice that settled about her comfortable as a lionness basking in the saharan shade.

yet place a child in that mix (specifically her child), and the scarce good grace the sheba possessed was replaced by nothing short of 'batshit-fucking beserker' -- words like 'dangerous' and 'unsafe' suddenly took on a cutesy, inoffensive meaning next to the destructive image that was caiaphas' maternal instincts engaged.

there was only a blur of ominous white to announce her sudden presence; a presence that did not stop or pause nor ask questions, but rather flitted directly towards svalinn's would-be-tormented with a harpy's sunblazing fury. a blurring ball of spitting death with kill-thrusters set at mach-speed, the iniquitous fiend sped towards the beast that dared imperil her child.

After Quixote joined was my limit so I'm going to go ahead and land the killing blow for us as agreed upon with @Nashoba and duck out.  PP'd Quixote with permission.  Thanks for the thread!  Feel free to tag me in a follow up. ♥

The lone wolf was no match for the Redhawk trio.  The fight did not last long; it was Ceara who lunged first, already incensed by the savage stranger's threats.  Nashoba's chin was jutted forward at an angle where she was capable of latching onto the yielding flesh at her throat, slamming into her with her entire weight to shield the child from his would-be attacker.  Quixote was hot on her heels, and more forces continued to trickle in from behind.  The added weight (and fangs) from the other two ripped the flesh from her jaws, a gaping hole where the loner's throat had once been — a killing blow.

The gory, fatal scene before her was necessary — for her pack, for the survival of Caiaphas' child — but to know that it came from her own flesh and bone caused her gut to roll and, with the child's mother on scene, she quickly excused herself.

Nope, apparently they weren't gonna be smart about it.  His pace did not falter, and soon after Ceara latched on to the stranger's neck, Quixote slammed into Nashoba as well, ripping in to the side of her neck, her shoulder, basically whatever he could reach, thrashing his head from side to side to try to rip and tear while ignoring basically whatever pathetic damage that could be done to his face or neck with Ceara hanging off her neck and restricting her movement.  This was certainly one of those times where he was operating by instinct and not a conscious mind, tunnel visioned in to the damage he was doing, and it was only when the brown figure dropped away that he paused, acidic eyes locked onto the dead or nearly so wolf for any signs of life.  None.

It was only when he was certain of it and his breathing returned to normal did he really paid attention to the rest of the scene -- that Caiaphas had showed up even later than him to defend her kid, that Ceara had scrammed without a word.  He'd gotten a nice coating of arterial spray, not that it was too visible on his dark pelt to add to whatever he'd collected from the damage that he'd done and had been done to him.  He remained standing over the body as he tried to figure out what to do next.  Haul it off back past the borders probably.  Meh.  Quixote was still very much on edge, his fur still spiked in every direction, his lips twitching as he leaned down to sniff at Nashoba once more before looking to Caiaphas, then briefly for Svalinn.  It wasn't like this had put him in a very chatty mood.

Svalinn, Boy-Wonder -- for all his eagerness, and his incorrigible sense of adventure; for all his child-like bravado -- could not withstand the loud and unfamiliar violence that exploded before him like the first shrieking notes of a great and cacophonous symphony. His eyes bugged wide, and his tail kept like velcro to the inside of his groin. His bravery had never been tested in this way before, and blind puppy-instinct made him ill-suited for the job being handled swiftly by several pairs of shearing, adult jaws. He was terrified by the snarls, by the angry faces and murderous stares; but it wasn't until he realized that Caiaphas was there, full-tilt in the throes of savagery, did he understand his need to flee.

He skittered like a roach for the nearest place to hide, and safety, to his mind, meant finding a cramped place like a den to hole up in. But because he had no true awareness yet of his own ever-expanding size, the child wound up stuck, sideways, and struggling between the arms of several unyielding roots as he tried to free himself at the tree's feet from a dirt space that was two sizes too small for him to occupy.

thanks for playing! rip nashoba lol

first one, then two, then three were upon her, ripping and tearing with everything they had. she never tasted flesh, too weak to even get a hold on just one of her attackers. instead, her knees buckled under their onslaught, the gash in her throat growing wider and wider as they attacked, blood a macabre fountain pouring from her jugular.

death came quickly, a crimson haze. here was nashoba, once a proud and noble--if sharp-tongued--woman, ripped to shreds like some common rogue. there had been a time where she would not have touched the idea of harming a pup, much less eating it, but, hey. . .tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis. desperation had driven her to mad measures, and now she had paid for it dearly, the most precious cost imaginable.

the struggles of her recent life had erased most of her memories, and nashoba had such little remembrance of the past that, in her last, gurgling gasps--the irony of being slaughtered by a pack she'd once called her own completely and utterly escaped her.

three against one was no contest; in minutes, the life that had cast its hungered gaze over svalinn had been extinguished, ripped like thin wisps of smoke on the wind. caiaphas spat the blood from her muzzle and assessed the thick viscera that doused quixote -- it was not a bad look for him. a cant of her proud muzzle was given in what could be perhaps construed as appreciation or respect - one that would have also been extended to fire had she not just hastily quit their company.

caiaphas' attention fell then on svalinn, or specifically, his absence. releasing the felled beast from her jaws she sprung after the child, who had the good sense to be terrified by the slaughter he had witnessed. presently, his round body was firmly anchored under the bent fingers of a tree's gnarled roots. grim as the bloody ordeal had just been, the sylph could not help but feel bemused to see svalinn's rather tormented plight against the tree that held him.

While she left to look after the pup, Quixote grabbed a leg of the corpse and dragged it over to the border and across, abandoning it to the elements there.  It hadn't been particularly hard work, she was basically just bones and fur at this point.  If scavengers weren't a thing, maybe he'd just have left it, but he didn't want them venturing into his territory for food.  Killing one trouble just to spawn another made about as much sense as Nashoba's actions in the first place.

After that he returned, seeking out Caiaphas and the youth.  Whether or not he was unstuck by then, who knew since post order isn't great for that, but either way he just wanted to check in before he went and did...  Uh.  Something.  He wasn't sure yet, and his thoughts beyond a few minutes in the future were a bit hazy.  Anyway, he either spotted Caiaphas not too far off or tracked her down to just confirm that the kid hadn't gotten chewed on in the blur of the fight or something, All good?

Not even gonna help ya boi out, smh

Becoming aware of Caiaphas' presence was, at first, quite terrifying. Svalinn struggled valiantly to bury himself, but his rotund sides and the slim-fitting roots made a poor couple; he was glad to abandon the venture when he realized it was his mother's shadow that had overtaken him. He froze as her scent hit him, and he began to whine when he realized that he couldn't turn to her right away. The boy struggled to wind himself backwards out of the wedge -- his back paws dug in mightily, and with one lucky twist he popped out of the tree's base and rocked back on his haunches with a grunt.

But if he was hurt in any way, it didn't show as he anxiously nudged himself between Caiaphas' legs, and used her as a roof to shield him from whatever troubles lingered. It was from this vantage point that he observed the stocky figure of Quixote approaching, and because he was still unfamiliar with the male, Svalinn began to vibrate with unfriendly growls; his tail wriggling uncertainly. He even boofed once or twice, but the quake of his limbs and the way he crouched beneath his mother were prominent tells of how fearful he still felt.

LMAO today i learned red is actually caiaphas' face-claim

had svalinn not found himself suddenly in the grips of tolkien's grey-willow's doppleganger, caiaphas might have assisted quixote with his grim task of disposing the body; she had certainly made plans to hatefully cast the beaten corpse from their borders as a last insult, before svalinn had gone and gotten himself trapped by an inanimate and insensate being. when she turned to see if quixote had caught the predicament the golden boy found himself in, she discovered he had already gone --

more troubling to the sylph was svalinn's unexpected terror of her; she had not realized before the fear that had seized him, and as her shadow cast about his restrained form he was suddenly released and scrambled between her legs. canting her muzzle down, caiaphas gave him a tender lick -- her gaze lifted upward to the alpha male's returning form.

below her, svalinn trembled and attempted to discourage the male's approach. she placed her thin front limbs in front of his vision, as if shielding him -- though it was certainly more for svalinn's own good over a need to protect him from the very male that had just possibly saved his life. if allowed, she would meet quixote's gaze but for the fleetest second and nod yes -- a silent token of gratitude given for the wolf that had prevented svalinn's demise.

There was still a good portion of him that was trained to interact with other's pups as little as possible, even if now there was no accidentally pissing off a leader by doing so.  Old habits were hard to break, so he tuned Svalinn out as best he could.  Besides, peripheral vision was good enough, and he'd be half-tempted to tell the kid to chill out if he said anything, and that probably wasn't the best thing to do anyway.  Quixote's understanding on pup development beyond his current litter's age was marginal at best.

So, he focused on Caiaphas.  Everything was fine-ish, apparently.  Mentally he was already starting to check out a bit, and Caiaphas probably had a higher chance of noticing it than he did paying attention to the brief eye contact.  As soon as she nodded, he was starting to turn away to head off and deal with the things that had been brought to the forefront of his mind.  Proper introductions or that sort of thing were definitely gonna have to wait for another day -- it's not like he ever made good impressions on anyone anyway.  Quixote was just gonna make an awkward exit and try to figure out what to say to Raven.  Yep, best socialized alpha ever.

As Quixote disappeared from sight, Svalinn made his way hesitantly from beneath Caiaphas, giving their immediate perimeter a cursory sniff. Looking up to his mother's black veil, seeing the absence of her salt-yellowed fangs reassured him: the danger had passed. Still, he kept a hip close to her, keeping a pert vigilance as they made an arrow's line straight home. At a distance he might appear to be forming a protective ring around his caretaker from some unseen evils, but up close it was easy to tell that the boy was more ringworm than ringmaster; just hunting for any sign at all he needed to fasten himself to Caiaphas' underside at a moment's notice as they went.

Thanks for saving me, guys! <3